Wrinkle in the Plan
by corvusdraconis
Summary: AU: HG/SS, Hermione made a choice at the end of the war that neither of her friends approved of. They shunned her for her choices until they needed her help to counter a fertility curse on all those born of Weasley blood. (COMPLETE)


**Summary:** AU: HG/SS, Hermione made a choice at the end of the war that neither of her friends approved of. They shunned her for her choices until they needed her help to counter a fertility curse on all those born of Weasley blood.

**Beta Love: **Publishing unsupervised *gasp*- nope, caught. Damn. Dragon and the Rose

**Rating:** M for reasons. Sensitive subjects and physical intimacy.

**A Wrinkle in the Plan**

"_To them, as to Magnus, time was like rain, glittering as it fell, changing the world, but something that could also be taken for granted._

_Until you loved a mortal. Then time became gold in a miser's hands, every bright year counted out carefully, infinitely precious, and each one slipping through your fingers." _

― _Cassandra Clare, The Bane Chronicles_

As Severus stirred at sunset, Hermione murmured against his chest, pulling his arms around her as she would the blankets she often hogged. He let out a long, heavy breath, shaking his head as he touched her cheek with fondness even as he noted the paleness of her skin.

Her eyes fluttered and she peered up at him, a tender expression on her face.

He reached for the bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a potion even as his mouth gently brushed against hers. He uncorked it, nostrils flaring as he smelled the contents before bringing it to her lips.

"Drink," he whispered.

Hermione scrunched up her face with distaste, her eyes closing as she snubbed the potion.

"Hermione," he said, using his fingers to tilt her head back to him. "Please."

She scowled, staring at his chest with stubbornness.

He met her gaze, silent but meeting her stubbornness with his own.

After a few minutes, the bottle still hanging in the air from his hand, she drank from it, her lips curled in disgust.

His expression softened as he pressed a kiss to her mouth. "I'm sorry."

Hermione shook her head, silent. She stared accusingly at the bottle, but she didn't blame him for it.

Her colour returned to her complexion as the blood returned, and he brushed her cheek with his thumb.

"You know I cannot alter the flavour," he said.

Hermione shook her head, adamant that he could if he really wanted to.

Severus sighed, opening his arms to her. "Come here."

She eyed his offer with wariness, wishing to hold onto her grudge in the early "morning."

Severus enfolded her, pulling her tightly against him. He could feel her blood coursing through every vessel—_life_. It was a symphony to his hyperactive senses, even as her warm nearness was a siren song. Her willing choice to stay at his side had been made a decade previous, after she had spent her first ten years attempting to work at the Ministry to change the laws that had made unfairness and inequality so painfully obvious to those like herself.

It had _not _gone well.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing ever did.

An individual could be reasoned with, but the masses tended to be of a sheep-like mentality—blindly tottering along until the wolf killed a few of their number to scare the rest of them into action.

Her friends had not supported her in her ideas or ideals either, nor did they approve of her change in career after that.

Molly Weasley had triple-disapproved of Hermione's choice of education and career path over getting married and popping out a Quidditch team of grandbabies. That choice had probably been thrice-scorned when she'd found out Hermione had chosen to live with Severus after having attained her masteries in both potions and Arithmancy.

Was it really any surprise that Hermione had no interest in Quidditch, flying with brooms, or just staying at home popping out sprogs like a breeding Crup bitch after everything she'd been through?

It had taken her years to get over the trauma that Bellatrix Lestrange had inflicted upon her, and that was just the main issue. Chronic Cruciatus had gifted her with daily agony, and a blood-borne curse that caused her "muddy blood" to disappear from her veins.

It had seemed only fair that he had worked to make a potion to save her life after she had saved his.

She hadn't asked.

He hadn't wanted her gratitude.

And she had never once, not even _once_, revealed his ultimate secret or how she had saved his life—and why she was able to.

Yet, she had still chosen him in the end.

Trusted him.

Foolish, naive witch.

_His _witch, if he could be so brave as to allow himself to taste of that exquisite ecstasy.

Yet, as each day went by, she grew steadily weaker. Each time she woke, it took a little longer for her to recover from the previous day. She grew ever more resentful of the foul potion that kept her alive, even as she seemed to cherish the life she had.

She was hardly suicidal. She had no wish to harm others or herself. No.

Her life was simply—

Escaping.

Trickling away like grains of sand between his fingers.

His face pressed into the warm curve of her neck as he felt the pulse just under her skin. Ever so slowly, her pulse was rising, struggling to deliver life to her body as her lifeblood trickled away unseen.

Potter and Weasley had been instrumental in stopping his research, saying that it was Dark magic as well as blood magic—the very thing the war had been fought against. Their paranoid followers and groupies wholeheartedly agreed—

He'd researched it anyway—

Damn them all to the deepest depths of Hell.

But Snape had had one last trick up his sleeve when all of his research had failed. All traditional, forgotten, buried, and ancient magic had failed him.

One last thing told the Wizarding world's magic to take a flying leap off the edge of the Abyss—

Hermione was sitting on the end of the bed, having slipped out of his embrace like a feline Houdini. He hadn't even felt her escape his grasp. She stretched, pulling her silken robe around her with a slight shiver as it chased the coolness of the chamber away.

"You'll be away tonight," she said, looking at the calendar.

Snape sighed, standing as he pulled on his robes. "Yes."

Hermione was not needy, he had to say in her defence, but she was growing weaker as the night went on. She knew his schedule—she even encouraged him to have a life outside of her. She didn't want to be a chain that tied him with an obligation.

It couldn't be helped that he cared for her safety.

"Be safe tonight," she said, rotating her shoulders with a few cracks in her back.

"Always," he replied. He brushed her hair from her face, looking her in the eyes. She met them with a trusting gaze, a small smile upon her lips that was just for him. There were other smiles, he knew, but that one was for him alone.

Lily held no candle to Hermione's light.

Hermione's unusual beauty simply radiated from within, encompassing all that she cared for. She may not have had her face plastered on the likes of _Witch Weekly_, but she was a treasure beyond compare, and she had proven her purity of judgment when she had both set his robes on fire and saved his life.

This was Hermione—she was both life itself and mortality's end.

She taught remedial potions and Arithmancy in the evenings alternating classes every other day—a contract from the Ministry to help boost those who might have had to be held back if not for her tutelage. Hogwarts didn't have the time to hand-hold weaker students. There had been a baby boom after the first war, and the second was no different.

Minerva was all too happy to allow Floo-network classes to Hermione to take advantage of her talent in both, as she was one of the very few who knew Hermione's more delicate condition.

Draco knew about it too—because he suspected that the curse afflicting her body had originated from his father's house or rather his family's house. Bellatrix had loosed something terrible with the bloodletting on Hermione, specifically, much as the Dark Lord had done during his many soirees amidst his long reign of terror.

Draco simply could not live there, and so he had left Britain behind to make his name anew in America, where the stigma of being a Malfoy was not quite so strong.

Lucius and Narcissa hadn't lived but a decade-plus-five before their own health simply faded away.

Part of Snape wondered if they had suffered much the same as Hermione but sequestered themselves away so fanatically that no one could have seen or tried to save them, even him.

Not that he would have even tried after what they had said to Hermione when she had first become his apprentice.

She was nobody's "fuck toy," least of all his. She was not "his Mudblood whore" or a "replacement for the one who got away."

She was not Lily Evans Potter, and he was damned glad of it.

She'd been the one to curse _him_, after all, tired of him constantly begging her for forgiveness. Ironically, it had been triggered by her death, and Snape had figured it had been "karma's insurance policy." A magical letter had arrived for him shortly after her death, accompanied by a litany of guilt.

He had been very, very careful not to trigger the second part it until the day Dumbledore had ordered him to kill him.

And then he had _died_—

Or should have.

Hermione had saved his life by pouring potions down his throat, knowing he wasn't fool enough to come without a number of healing potions on his person. She even used the Draught of Living Death on him to keep his gravely wounded body in stasis long enough to get him emergency medical assistance.

While he was recovering, his curse had finally begun, very slowly and almost unnoticeably, transforming him into what a teenaged Lily had thought was justified, even as Bellatrix' twisted curse set its hooks into Hermione and began to vanish her lifeblood.

Ironically, it was _his _curse that had saved her—

Well, sort of.

Snape disappeared down into the depths of his lower laboratory, knowing Hermione would never enter uninvited any more than he would hers. They both had different ways of organising things, setting things up, and putting away the accoutrements of potions brewing.

He saw that the base potion was finally complete—it took a whole month to brew it, much like Wolfsbane—and he closed his eyes, bringing his hand to his mouth.

His fangs flashed even in the dark of the laboratory, quick and fast enough to register no pain, and he carefully dripped some of his blood into the secondary potion that nullified, at least partially enough not to pass any affliction to her, the contagion. He waited until the base turned from crimson to black, signalling it was ready, and then he stirred it into the main potion, three drops at a time and alternating stirring directions each time.

The irony was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Lily had cursed him but had inadvertently given him a way to save Hermione's life, even if it had to be given once a night with no exception. Even if it tasted utterly vile.

He knew she hated the taste. She always admonished him that he'd left some ingredient out—altered _some_thing.

But she still trusted him and drank it down, hating every swallow.

He couldn't even put words to how much that one simple thing meant to him. He didn't deserve that kind of trust, but she gave it to him anyway.

He poured the potion into the smaller storage bottles as well as the regular potion bottles. There would be enough there for a good three months, so he would not have to start brewing again for some time. He approved of that because the more time he had with Hermione the better. He wanted every single second he had with her, and he cursed every moment he had to be away.

He might go on through the centuries, but she—she was terribly finite.

Eventually, no matter how much he cared, tended, watched, and even (though he would never admit it) pampered her—she would die. He would be left bereft without her. There would never be one like her again.

There would be no replacement. No being in all the world that could stand outside her shadow. She was the first person to truly trust him, and there would never be another.

Every time he made love to her, his instincts would drive him to not only take her blood but give his in return—to bind her fragile life to his and make her his mate.

But he always wrestled with that instinct with his iron control, inexorably driving it back.

Sometimes, he would see her wishing to ask why he always pulled away from her. He could feel her eyes on his back as he wrestled to control his instincts and keep her from being contaminated by his taint—his curse.

How could he ask her to give up her life just so she would not eventually leave him alone?

He was a selfish, selfish man.

He wanted, oh how he wanted, to have her at his side to share the long un-life together.

When Lily had cursed him to "live forever with your guilt" had he known it would not be guilt of _her _that he would have to live with but the guilt of having outlived the one he truly never wished to be parted from?

She and her house-elf rights obsession.

She and her leaving half-read books with ribbons marking the pages that left their combined library littered with beribboned books.

She and her wild, nigh-sentient hair that tried to strangle him while he slept.

The way she bit her lip and tugged at the skin when she worried.

Her obsession with carving the writing quills to just the right point so the ink didn't splatter—

The way she would get so frustrated with him whenever he feigned deafness to her conversation only to repeat it back to her word for word—

No matter _how _heated the argument, she would always tuck herself into his embrace as the sun rose, never complaining, never so angry that she'd deny him that simple companionship.

How had that even started?

Had it truly been as simple as asking her out for a coffee the very night she had been pinned as her own master?

Had it been when he first noticed her health truly failing as she struggled to hold a quill steady or stir a potion without shaking?

Had it been as he rocked her body as she cried, frustrated that there was nothing anyone could do for her short of giving her a blood transfusion at the Muggle hospital every single night, while the healers at Mungos tried to chain feed her blood replenishing potions which were never made to be used chronically.

Or had it been before that?

A simple lean against his shoulder as she pointed at some book on a shelf at the bookstore—the one she knew he had been looking for a time spanning weeks if not months or years.

Her hand curled around his as she comforted his frown—

He wasn't sure.

He knew he would treasure every moment he had with her. Every second of every day.

He took the potion bottles up the stairs to store in the upstairs, temperature-charmed storage closet for their personal use potions. They kept it well stocked with basic potions for every need as well as the special ones for her. She never touched them.

He would always be the one to administer it to her because she'd always try to push herself to go without it.

As he shelved the potions side by side, filling up the one side of the cabinet with Hermione's medicine, he felt her embrace him. Her arms wrapped around his waist as her head leaned against his back.

"Thank you for all you do for me, Severus," Hermione said quietly. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

Severus turned, wrapping his arms around her. "You are not—a bother. Not ever."

Hermione looked somewhat dubious, but she leaned into his chest anyway.

He closed the cabinet, locking it with a small key the both of them carried around their necks. He couldn't ward the cabinet due to the touchy Muggle climate control mechanism, and magical wards strangely caused Hermione's potions to rapidly lose potency once they were decanted. He had to keep them upstairs and out of his lab where random bits of magic didn't interfere and alter their bases.

He was willing to tolerate it. He didn't want there to be any risk of the potion being easy to make lest someone get wind of it and try to duplicate it, not that they could duplicate the final ingredient without him.

"I must go," Severus said, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Please rest tonight."

"I just have a remedial potions class tonight," she replied. "I'll be fine, and I'll rest after, I promise."

Snape bent, kissing her knuckles. "I love you."

Hermione smiled, tired but genuine. "Not enough to give me a ring," she ribbed, her eyes twinkling with her inner smile.

He held her tightly against him, pressing her head to his chest as his face grimaced in pain.

"I'm teasing," she said, sensing his anxiety. "I know that you have your reasons. Please be safe tonight," she reminded him gently.

"I will," he swore, clasping her small hands in his before heading out the door.

* * *

Snape detested Muggles, but not for the reason most people thought. They stank, for the most part, preferring the most cloying of scents to his nose that were much more artificial than those found in the Wizarding world.

Still—there were plenty of unwary folks out there to satisfy his needs as he required it, and he went about it systematically. Drunks were the easiest, seeing as he was immune to alcohol and they were already well out of their gourd by the time he found them. He may have even done them a favour by taking some of the alcohol out of their system.

Burglars and such were often next on his list, and he would often empty their haul on the place they were exiting after having a spot of dinner.

Security cams and CCTV monitors had "fun" trying to figure out how any recorded evidence at all involved the "shady individual" walking into an area off camera only to walk back out a few minutes later and put everything back where they had found it.

Snape's contribution to ending crime—it was the least he could do since they provided a meal.

Being undetectable _did _have its distinct advantages.

Having the propensity to spontaneously combust in the sun if he hadn't fed enough—that was not pleasant, however.

He'd tried random animal blood, and it did keep the cravings down, but every so often he had to do human, or his nature would remind him that he was a predator—and a starving one.

He had too much control to throw himself at any random person, but he wasn't about to risk such things while he was with Hermione.

Vampire blood, however, would last him for months. One feed, and he was set for the long haul. He'd found that out accidentally, having chosen a rather "goth" looking individual at a bar who had tried to take a bite out of him—apparently they were a little lacking in self-control. But whatever sorcery, Dark magic, or twisted magic had sired that individual was something strange to him.

Lily had apparently made him into something she imagined in her mind through Muggle horror stories and a spiteful need for retribution.

He had a mesmerising gaze, for example, and despite his less than stellar looks, he could charm even the most surly of victims into bending neck and donating to his cause.

"Real" vampires were hungry, unimaginative beings that had no magic in their blood, save the force that kept them "alive". They transmitted their unique "disease" via their bite rather like a sexually-transmitted disease—

Leaving Snape more than enough fodder to choose from.

The irony?

His bite _cured_ "real" vampirism.

Lily's odd blessings really were something to behold. In creating him, she had actually ended up saving others.

He admitted that he truly enjoyed watching the Muggle vampire crowd who lived up their vampire life stumbling around without their affliction, feeling around for the fangs that were no longer there. Then, if some other vampire tried to bite the former vampire, they ended up losing their disease too.

It was utterly _hilarious_.

Many of those types would seek him out, thinking him one of them because of his admittedly dreary fashion sense. He'd feed on them, gaining all the perks of their previous _un_life to feed his hunger, and then send them tottering off, mortal and unturned and with a sudden intense desire to take up community service.

He smiled wickedly. And a sudden desire to wear any colour other than black like, hrm, say—colours and patterns loud and obnoxious enough to literally wake the dead.

So, Severus Snape, undead bastard and cursed ex-friend of the former Lily Evans, had actually improved the London nightlife by cutting down on crime and curing normal vampirism. Sometimes he wished he could tell Hermione about it. He had a feeling she'd have enjoyed that irony if she'd known the full story.

Alas—

She knew he'd been cursed by his one-time best friend. She even knew it was the reason he shunned the daytime with religious fervour, but she didn't know he was a legendary vampire—the kind a young witch reading too many fables and stories puts together with a romanticised flair. It was like Lily had just listed all the things together that made a vampire monstrous and added them to a list with Snape's name on it.

Thanks. No, really.

Snape sighed.

Adolescent witch curses were a scary thing—binding it to power upon the moment of your death? Even scarier.

He could only imagine what Lily would have been like had she been a pureblood. Bellatrix came to mind.

Scary.

Insane.

Shouldn't _ever _be allowed to carry a wand.

Maybe, he thought he'd just go sun himself to death, never realising that he would survive and actually live a mostly-normal life. Whatever she had believed, she probably wasn't happy with the actual outcome.

Then again—without Hermione, his life would become something far more painful than he ever wanted to contemplate. He hadn't even realised how much she gave him until he noticed Hermione was slowly deteriorating again. Her most passionate, warm flame of life was dimming.

He would be alone. Again.

The home he had built himself, and he admitted he had been thinking of her as much as himself, had her special touch in almost every room. Even his laboratory had her photo tucked away on his main desk, smiling warmly at him as he took the photograph.

Strangely, she had a photo of him, too. Somehow, he had shown up when one of the students had taken one using a Wizarding camera. She and he together, him with "that look" as she called it. "So possessive," she'd said, chuckling. Her hands in his as she beamed up at him.

He'd Obliviated the student's memory of taking it and had taken the negatives, but she'd treasured the photograph as "rare evidence of Severus Snape with the dreaded emotions."

She really knew how to press his buttons.

And unfasten them too.

_Ahem_.

Gods, how he loved her. His very soul sang for her, rejoicing in her presence like none other. She didn't even have to touch him to make him shiver with anticipation. Her smile was enough. Her touch was sheer ecstasy. Her having chosen _him_—

That very thought cancelled out a lifetime of self-loathing.

He wondered if one such as himself even _had _a soul after all he'd been through.

As he sent one now ex-vampire toddling off to go volunteer at the local soup kitchen, he felt the burning hunger ease. He realised that because of Hermione, he'd become more selective in his meals, purposely choosing the ones that would least likely cause a moral conflict of interest or uncomfortable conversation. It wasn't as if they were actually speaking of his feeds, either.

What a strange creature he had become.

Sensitive.

Considerate.

Surely he had gone mad.

His heart beat traitorously within his breast.

It beat for her. He could feel it whenever he thought of her, was near her, made love to her.

And it _was _love. That was a certainty.

Never had be ever been so sure of anything.

The only thing he couldn't quite be sure of was if he could—should—succumb to the powerful instinct to truly make her his mate.

A Dark wizard was having trouble making a decision regarding an internal ethical debate. It was so rich.

Lily hadn't known him at all. Not really. Perhaps—

Not _ever_.

As he took wing in his bat form (thank you, Lily) he found his way to the preserve where some of the purest ingredients grew, including the moon lily that captured the dew he required for Hermione's potion.

He captured the dew in the crystal phials, taking every last, precious drop he knew would go into the potion.

It would take a few hours to get what he needed, and then he could return home where he belonged, to the one whose life had wrapped itself around his so thoroughly around his heart that it actually beat.

Despite the curse.

Despite everything.

* * *

As Hermione opened the door after the classes for the Hogwarts students, she fully expected to see that one of her students had forgotten something.

"Hello, Hermione, may I come in?"

Hermione's eyebrows tried to knit together like velcro. "Harry."

"I know it's been a long time, but—can we talk?"

Hermione, already weary from teaching, remembered Severus had told her to rest. "Fine, come in, Harry," she said, letting him in the door. "It's late, she said, closing the door behind Harry only to have the door thump back into her. She winced, rubbing her shoulder as she closed it again.

"Tea?" she asked as Harry followed her into the kitchen.

Harry was looking around, a surprised look on his face as his eyebrows raised together.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Harry, everything isn't black, green, and silver here," she scoffed, shaking her head as she put on the kettle.

"Sorry," Harry said awkwardly, rubbing his hair with his hand. He sat down at the counter, his legs dangling from the high stool.

Hermione made the tea in silence, and she brought it over, setting it down with milk and sugar. "Why are you here, Harry?"

"We're friends, Hermione."

"_Were_ friends," she corrected. "A friend doesn't just stop talking to someone when they find out she moved in with someone. And you and Ron purposely put an end to Severus' research."

"He wanted to research blood magic," Harry said, adamant.

"My blood, Harry," Hermione said.

"Any kind of blood magic is _**evil**_, Hermione!"

Hermione glowered over her teacup. "And science? Are you on a crusade about Muggle research, blood-borne disease, cancer?"

"No! Of course not!" Harry said, and then his eyes went wide as he realised what he'd said. "I mean. It's different, Hermione!"

"Different because it was _him,_ wasn't it? Had Arthur wanted to do research, you wouldn't have even had a problem, would you?"

"Well you're looking mighty fine for being at death's door, Hermione!" Harry blurted.

You're a real piece of work, Harry Potter," Hermione said. "Why are you _really _here? Hrm? Somehow I doubt it is for tea and sympathy."

"People are becoming infertile all across Britain," Harry said.

"Go see a reproductive endocrinologist," Hermione said, deadpan.

"Wizards and witches don't see Muggle doctors!"

"Perhaps, they should," Hermione said, her voice terribly flat.

"Look, I think it has something to do with the Malfoys."

"Draco isn't even in Britain, and his parents are dead."

"_**I know that!"**_ Harry yelled.

"Don't yell at me, Harry."

"I—" Harry struggled, wringing his hands. "Look, we think some sort of magic was released at the old Malfoy place."

Hermione's lip curled. "_Ob_viously."

Harry, unnerved, couldn't meet her gaze. "Do you remember any sort of spell being cast while you were—"

"Being tortured?"

Harry flinched. "Yes."

"No, Harry," Hermione replied. "I remember agonising pain. I remember bleeding all over the floor. I remember crying for it to end. But no. I do not remember any sort of spell being cast while I was being tortured on the floor of the Malfoy 'place'."

"Look, Hermione," Harry said. "I've been doing some research."

"By yourself, or did you find someone else to copy notes from?"

"Hermione, _**please!"**_

"And how many times did I say, 'Harry, please!' and 'Harry, please listen! Please!' only to have it fall on deaf ears. 'Something is wrong, Harry! Please! Just let me explain. Just let me tell you why Severus needs to research!' Hrm? How many times Harry?" Hermione's voice was steely and cold. Her hands trembled.

"Look, I'm sorry!" Harry said. "I thought you weren't right in the head!"

"Why?"

Harry was silent.

"_Why_, Harry?"

Harry's lip trembled. "You were moving in with bloody Snape!"

"You named one of your children after him!"

"That's different!"

"Please, pull the other one," Hermione retorted. She shook her head.

"He's a Dark wizard, Hermione."

"You used _his_ spells to attack Draco Malfoy. You were addicted to the power from that Dark wizard's book. Don't give me that rot that because he happens to show more control over it that somehow he's Darker than you."

"He took off George's ear!"

"He missed the Death Eater flying in behind him."

"You can't know that for sure."

"Neither can you," Hermione said, eyes narrowing.

Harry's fingers tightened until his knuckles whitened. "Look, I need your memories of that time we were there."

"No."

"Hermione!"

Hermione lifted her chin. "I already sent you countless vials, Harry. Find one out of the hundred or more I sent, begging you to look into it."

Harry paled. "You—"

"I don't know what trickery you used to find your way here, Harry, but I want you gone. Get. Out. We sent you every bit of research with our plea to allow more when we applied for the research permit that you. Adamantly. Cock-blocked. Now, grab onto yours with both hands and march out my door before I remember how to conjure birds to fly up your urethra."

"Hermione—"

"Get out."

"I never got it!" Harry protested.

"Bullshite."

"I _**swear **_I never got it!"

"So you just stood in the way based on hearsay? You never even questioned not getting the research?! Hermione's voice started to screech.

"I—" Harry's face was pale.

"I can't even stand to look at you, Harry Potter," Hermione said, her lips pressing together in a flat line. "Find those vials and blame yourself for whatever pox has spread to your loved ones. Let me guess. Weasleys? Would you have even come here if not for that?"

"Hermione, I'm an Auror—"

"And you did so _well _by me, didn't you, Harry?"

"Aurors fight against Dark—"

"Get out, Harry. I don't know what happened to the man who named his child after the bravest man he ever knew, but when you find him, then maybe we can talk. Otherwise, all I see is a boy who let someone else yank him around by the cock with promises of family, one who is far too afraid to believe anything other than what they spoon feed him."

Harry drank the last of his tea and set the cup down. "Thank you for the tea," he said, hopping off the stool as he fled the kitchen. He paused at the door, his hand holding it open as he turned back to look at her. "Ginny miscarried. Three times now. It's happening all over. Wizards are being told they are sterile. It all starts with the Malfoys!"

Hermione closed the door in his face as she said, "No, Harry. It started when blood seeped into the foundations of Malfoy Manor. Many, many Muggles and magicals bled on those stones as they were tortured or killed. Now, put your mind in that of the torturer, and tell me what curse they might have thought of while making every one of them bleed."

Harry's eyes were wide with horror as the door shut in his face with a click.

* * *

"I got 'em, mate," Ron crowed as he held out the shrunken box. "They are all labeled with Mione's name, ya?" He stepped out from the invisibility cloak as they Apparated back to Harry's office as the DMLE. "You saw her. Mione looks just fine. Snape found a way to save her. It can save us all!"

"You were supposed to see if there might be a cure, not take the entire lot!"

"What's it matter! He can make more if he's so good! We have the cure here. It can be used!"

"We need to have it analysed, Ron!"

"Our family needs it _**now**_, Harry!" Ron blurted, causing every head in the Aurory to turn and look at them both.

"What have you done, Ron?" Harry asked quietly.

* * *

When Severus returned home, he found Hermione curled up next to the fireplace, sleeping with one of her favourite books. He carefully placed the ribbon in the book and closed it, picked her up into his arms, and carried her underground to their sleeping chambers.

There was a bedroom upstairs kept pristinely clean and suitably Slytherin for guests to see, but when the day came, he always preferred the deep and dark. Hermione, as always, did not complain. Save for the potions laboratories and outer building classroom setups, their living place was quite Muggle.

He didn't mind if it meant the potions were kept safe for Hermione's use. She never complained about having more duvet to cuddle under, either, even if she did end up stealing the covers on a regular basis as she left him completely starkers on the other side of the bed.

He suspected she did it on purpose to get him to snuggle with her again, and he did so as often as he could.

As long as she was near, his body did not go the stillness of the dead. His heart continued to beat as if it did only for her benefit and comfort. Perhaps he was not so wrong.

As he undressed her for bed, trying not to be aroused by her closeness and allow her the sleep she so desperately needed. She, however, woke, and hungrily sought his mouth as her hands slipped under his robes and skillfully unbuttoned his line of seemingly neverending buttons. Gone were the days she fumbled with them in frustration as he skillfully showed her how it was done.

Oh, how he _craved _her touch, her warmth, her tender yet eager kisses upon his skin—

Her passion was endless, or so it seemed.

She never tired of him.

Her soft, needy moans intertwined with his name in a way he had never, before her, heard his name being said. Her nails scraped down his back leaving him the kind of mark he would proudly wear—the love of a witch.

_His _witch, if he would just allow it.

He gently sucked on her skin down her neck, willing his controls to keep his fangs from their deep, instinctual purpose, eliciting her soft, wonderous whimpers that caused every fibre of his being to mate with her and only her.

Even after everything that had happened to her, she allowed him to touch her, worship her every curve, and sheathe himself inside her in the most intimate union of mutual passion—even as he forced his fangs to retreat and not take the blood he so desperately wished to.

Even as she tilted her head to invite his kiss—

She couldn't possibly know how hard it was to deny that invitation and sink his fangs into her neck and drink.

Take her life but give her his—

Transform her into his mate—

Share their very souls.

Their magic slid together in a rush of perfection that made his hair slither around like it was alive, and hers— more alive than usual.

As their skin slid against the other's and their moans synchronised with the gyrations of their bodies, he thrust into her, completing the circuit connection they so desperately desired. Each thrust sent a jolt of electricity down his spine as his fangs lengthened a little by little with each and every plunge of his erection.

His mouth descended upon her neck—

His teeth clicked together as he forced his fangs to obey and retreat even as he pressed his mouth to her beating vessels in her neck. She shuddered around his still-eager cock, breathing his name in that way that had him ready and willing to start the cycle again.

So much for being dead—

"Hermione," he whispered.

A hiss.

A prayer of devout worship.

An adoration of her choice of him.

Her name was the spell of unmaking and remaking. She had moulded him into her most devoted slave— willingly.

Willing because she never did more than ask, and sometimes she did not even do that. She was no Dumbledore or Riddle. She asked and thanked, attempted to do things on her own, got embarrassed when she couldn't—

She communicated with him, trusted him not only with her life but her knowledge. It was intoxicating to a man starved to serve with only tidbits of information, forced to find out what he could on his own.

To him, she was a goddess, both imperfect and natural as the Norse gods. She did not need to have Lily's perfect, radiant features to shine.

So what if no one else did not see it?

He _saw _it.

He _felt _it.

"Severus," she breathed, a sigh, a whimper.

"I love you," he breathed.

Her neck, so supple and ready for attention, lay beneath his mouth.

She pulled his head to her neck, inviting his attention. "I love you more."

Tears slid down the side of his imperfect nose.

_Impossible._

He panted, pulling her to him, tucking her head under his chin, as he closed his eyes. Their bodies fit together perfectly as he pulled the duvet over them.

The sun was rising now, but she would be right there with him.

It was enough, he told himself as he closed his eyes, listening to her breaths as he felt them tickle against his skin.

One more day.

One day at a time.

One hour.

One breath.

With _her_.

* * *

The mad knocking on the front door was getting hard to ignore.

Hermione stirred against him, drowsy and pale.

Severus touched her cheek, brushing against her soft skin with his thumb. He reached for the potion on the desk and admonished himself for not bringing in a new one.

"Thank Merlin," she whispered. "Saved."

Severus frowned, his dark eyebrows knitting together. "Is it truly so terrible for you?"

"It tastes like I'd imagine a hippogriff's arse would after rampant diarrhea," she said with a shudder.

Snape huffed. "Voice of experience?"

"Just my best guess."

"Hn," he replied.

The mad knocking continued.

"_**Hermione!" **_

"_**Hermione!"**_

"_**Come on, Hermione, please!"**_

"It just tastes off, is all. Okay, maybe way off. Like you took something out of it," she said.

His frown reappeared. "It's working."

She leaned into him. "I'm not ungrateful," she said. "I'm just wishing it tasted less like— whatever that tastes like."

He touched her temple, brushing the hair from her face. "I am sorry."

"_**HERMIONE, PLEASE!"**_

Snape growled, his voice a rumble of venom and threat. "Potter."

Hermione thumped her head against his chest. "I'll answer it."

"How did he find this place?"

"Auror connections, most likely. Maybe he traced the sales record."

Snape frowned even harder.

Hermione placed a tender kiss on his lips. "Don't frown, Severus. It took him how many years to finally track us down?"

"Not long enough." He sighed. "If we could have warded—"

Hermione smiled at him. "You do so much for me, Severus. I feel I do not do enough to deserve you."

Snape shook his head adamantly. "You have no idea what you give to me."

Hermione looked like she was going to say something more in response, but the constant frantic pounding from upstairs caused her to roll her eyes. "I'll get it."

Snape looked at her as she dressed and walked up into the house. He saw the ever encroaching weakness in her body without the potion, and he resolved to find some way to make the potion work and not taste like— dismal failure. It pained him to see a witch that was so strong with life have a body that betrayed her.

Just as her so-called friends had betrayed her.

Just as the bloody Ministry had betrayed her.

He could take ostracisation, but he didn't want it for her. She seemed content in his company, but surely she wanted more than her own personal scarecrow?

_You're an idiot, Severus. She loves you._

He closed his eyes. Could she possibly love him enough to—

_No_. He clenched his hands into fists. He could _never _ask that of her.

_Selfish._

_Selfish._

_Selfish._

"You have to help me, Hermione! The cure! It didn't work!"

"_What_ cure, Harry?"

"The cure!"

"_**WHAT**_ cure, Harry?!"

"The ones in the bottles—"

"What bottles?"

"I-in your cabinet! Ron was just supposed to get a sample, b-but he took it all. He gave it all to his family before I could even get it analysed—"

"Analysed for _**WHAT?!**_" Hermione's voice had reached a shriek as her magic flared wildly.

Gods, but she was powerful.

"A mass cure. For _**ALL **_of the families that aren't able to have children because of that ruddy curse!"

"You stole my medicine to steal a cure without even asking, without even _**caring **_what it could do to you?"

"I—" Harry stammered. "Hermione, it was affecting so many—"

"You, Harry? Are your little wrigglers still wriggling, Harry?"

Harry's red face told all.

Snape's iron hand was around Harry's throat as he slammed the Auror hard against the wall. "You _**stole **_Hermione's potions? With magic? Did you steal it with _**magic?**_"

"Well, Ron said the cabinet was locked, so—"

"And he was under that abominable cloak, wasn't he, Potter?" Snape's fangs were trying to emerge, the sharp sting of their points pushing out from his gums even as he forced them back and shoved Harry into the wall again.

"_**Yes!"**_ Harry yelped.

"All of it?" Snape's voice was but a deadly whisper. His fingers tightened steadily around Harry's neck.

"Y-yk-yes!" Harry finally choked out.

Snape's gaze was absolutely murderous, but the sound of the door closing as Hermione left the house shook him out of it.

_**Crack!**_

Severus flung Harry across to the room, and the Auror hit the far wall painting. Both went crashing down as Snape opened the door and looked out to the deserted yard—

Hermione's garden of blooming night-flowers waved in the evening breeze.

"Hermione?" he whispered, agony in every syllable.

He stormed back into the house, his eyes having filled with black so even the whites of his eyes held the darkness of the Void. His body trembled as a change took over. His body twisting with each step as his robes were replaced with leathery skin as his arms became great wings. His face jerked out into bat-like muzzle as a roar escaped his throat.

He pinned Harry against the wall with his wing spurs as his fierce black eyes met Harry's.

"Now, Mr Potter," he snarled. "You will tell me _every_thing starting from when you first denied my research into Hermione's condition."

Harry's body went slack as he wobbled back and forth. "Of course, Master," he babbled inanely as his runaway train of verbal diarrhoea started from the very beginning.

* * *

_**Rampaging Mobs of Infertile Witches and Wizards Raze **_

_**Old Malfoy Manor**_

_After a most startling confession from Head Auror Harry Potter in the wake of his best mate passing a stolen, unregulated, experimental potion to his family in hopes of curing their sudden infertility, hordes of angry witches and wizards razed the old Malfoy estate down to the foundations, blaming it for starting a curse that affected any family who set foot in the estate during Voldemort's occupation. _

_While investigators are still trying to trace all the families that were truly affected by the insidious curse, many believe that since it was a blood-curse, the oldest families are the most affected, having shared bloodlines for generations._

_Others are rioting, outraged that research should have been started when the first cases started showing up only to realise that supporting the anti-blood-magic research that barred supposed Dark wizards and witches from taking power kept anyone from solving the encroaching crisis before it became so widespread._

_As for what inspired Auror Potter's unexpected confessions, no one is sure. Many suspect that watching his in-laws and best mate's family go totally round the bend, eating bugs while proclaiming "for the blood is life!" is a clear indicator of what finally broke Potter's stubborn resolve. _

_Whether the burning of the old Malfoy property actually ended the curse, however, remains to be seen. Draco Malfoy had abandoned his family home many years ago and has not been seen in Britain since._

* * *

It had been ten days since he had seen her.

Since she had left.

Since his heart had broken.

Since his rage almost led to him murdering Potter in cold blood in the very house she and he had built together.

She had _left _him.

Left him.

Left him.

Left him!

No potion.

No hope.

No future.

This place was nothing without her to share it with.

He shed his humanity as he shed his tears, the agony of life's most bitter betrayal— to give him something not to die for but to live and then take it away.

Great black wings replaced his robes. A snarling muzzle replaced his human face. Rows of sharp fangs replaced dull, human teeth.

Without her, he was a monster. He would _be _a monster, then.

He roared into the heavens, and the stars seemed to tremble, cowering from his anguish, his rage, his pain.

Alone.

"Leaving without me, then?"

Snape's head whipped around.

"Hermione." His voice, a rumble between jagged teeth an inhuman face.

Here.

Here.

She was here.

_**HERE!**_

His heart leapt, beating— living again.

"I suppose I have no wings, and I do so hate brooms," Hermione said tiredly, leaning on the garden wall. "I had to take a plane and walk. And take the train. A taxi. A shepherd's cart— then more walking. I visited my parents. They don't know me of course. But I had to see them since I know I will not survive the month. Not without your potion."

"I planned to return that morning, but my magic— can do little without the blood. Couldn't even send an owl— and we had no phone."

She was close to him. So close.

Her hands grasped his muzzle as her warm breath tickled his nostrils.

She was stroking his fur, his ears, her hands running along his teeth.

"Did you think I would leave you?" she asked, her expression sad. "I am sorry."

She weakened, sliding down to the ground as his wings caught her. "I know what you are, you foolish man. I would gladly share a lifetime with you if you would but only ask—"

Her eyes fluttered closed. "But you never asked. I understand. I'm such a needy, annoying, know-it-all. Who would stare at me for longer than a human lifetime?"

Her breaths were shallow; her muscles struggled to lift her diaphragm to help her breath. Her skin was pale, her muscles weak. Her pulse struggled to push what was left of her blood to her organs.

"Hermione—"

He could take her to a hospital, get her treatment. A transfusion—

Buy her some time.

But his senses knew there wasn't time. She had used up the last of her energy to return to him, and he was losing her all over again.

"No," he whined, pulling her into his embrace.

Her body was colder, clearly suffering.

"Please, no."

He nuzzled her as his beastly features melted away, his face twisted in anguish. "Please. Please." He pressed his cheek to her temple. "Please stay with me. Please."

All of his resolve was gone. Watching her die in his arms. He couldn't face it. He just couldn't handle it.

A life without her was no life at all. True life. _Un_life. Whatever life he had.

His fangs emerged— eager, needy.

He bore down on her slender throat, struggling to fight against his normal controls and allow his nature to do what it wanted—_needed_— to do.

Her skin barely resisted as his fangs pierced her neck, seeking out the carotid. Her blood pooled slowly into his mouth, driven there by her frantic heartbeat. He drank.

It was unlike anything he had ever taken before.

It might as well have been sweet ambrosia—

Food of the gods.

It was a struggle to pull away, and he drew a claw across his own neck as guided her mouth to it.

"Drink, beloved," he breathed. "Once their most precious asset, my most beloved of the world. Be one with me now, flesh of my flesh. Blood of my blood. Kin of my kin— my companion throughout life and death and beyond." **

Nothing prepared him for the ecstasy of her mouth upon his neck, taking from him his tainted, cursed blood into herself.

With every heartbeat, their magic sang, merging, tightening—

This was her choice.

Choosing him.

Choosing to be his.

His witch.

His mate.

_His_.

She had stopped her feed, and he looked down at her worriedly. She gazed back at him with sleepy, sated eyes— black eyes, just like his.

_Severus_, he heard her voice in his mind, his soul. Her fangs, seeming quite dainty in her mouth, shone a pristine white in the moonlight. _Make love to me._

Severus hissed, his fangs bared in elation. "As you command, my _queen_," he breathed as he descended upon his mate in the moonlit garden.

As Hermione's shriek of ecstasy set the bats to flight, two great winged shapes launched into the night air, their great wings blotting out the shine of the moon as they chased each other across the night sky like two young lovers exploring each other's prowess and devotion to the other.

Yet, had anyone noticed, they would have no doubt that he would always catch her, and she would always allow him to.

Gladly.

Joyously.

* * *

_**Fertility Plus Elixir Available With Healer Prescription at St Mungo's**_

_The proven fertility plus elixir from the renowned potions masters, Severus and Hermione Snape has been released and is available only with a Healer's prescription following a pre-screening exam at St Mungo's._

_The potion, which seems to be the only way to ensure fertility in the wizard and the witch who are trying to conceive after the infertility plague that swept Wizarding Britain. There are two potions available, one for the witch and one for the wizard. They must be taken daily until conception and then weekly until the birth to be effective, otherwise there is a substantially increased risk of a miscarriage._

_The potion is only to be administered by a registered healer due to the weight and magical computations. The Ministry cautions Wizarding Britain not to attempt to use the less expensive imposter potions as they are not tested and many are made with less-effective ingredients leading to complications in pregnancy and premature abortion of the foetus._

* * *

"Mummy look!" A coal-black batling did a loop-de-loop in the air and then perched upside down on a branch. Her bushy curls hung down in a lush mane.

"Very fine flying, sweetling," Hermione answered as her suckerling affixed to her breast, hurriedly lapping at the blood from the tiny wound his baby teeth had inflicted upon his mum.

Hermione shook her head, rubbing the small batling on the head.

"Mum! I got an O in Arithmancy!" a teenaged batling crowed, landing nearby.

"The DMLE must be very proud," Hermione said with a grin.

"But are _you _proud, mum?" the batling asked, pouting.

"Of course I am, Sebastian," Hermione said with a laugh. "Be sure to tell your father when he comes out of the laboratory."

"More fertility potions?" Sebastian said, wrinkling his nose. "Can't they just mate like _normal _people?"

Hermione snorted her tea, sending bubbles in a few directions. "And how did you get ot be the expert in mating rituals, Sebastian?"

The teenage batling slid his eyes sideways. "I may like someone."

"You better not be giving any love bites at your age," Severus said, his voice coming in a deep, disapproving growl.

The batling's eyes went wide and fur rigid. "No! Of course not, father! No bites unless they're forever!"

Severus sent nose to nose with his batling, eyes narrowing. "You had better keep your fangs to yourself, my son. No blood sharing until you've spent at least ten years making sure they don't wear off."

The batling pouted. "But ten _years_, dad?!"

"How long did it take you and dad, mum?" the younger batling in the tree asked, swinging back and forth. She was wearing a pink t-shirt that said "I'm cute!" written in moving letters.

"About twenty years," Hermione said, smiling warmly. "Have you finished your homework, Helena?"

"Yes, mum," the batling replied. "Of course. I read _Hogwarts: a History_ and wrote a report on normal vampires."

"_**Ow!**_ Stephen, the blood bar closes when you bite mummy's nipple." Hermione scowled at the suckerling. The small batling squeaked adorably and very carefully continued licking without using his needle-sharp baby fangs.

"When do you think we'll grow up, daddy?" Holly asked. She hung upside down on another branch in the back garden, her silver-grey fur shimmering beautifully amongst the moonflowers.

"I'd imagine the normal human time, love. The DMLE healers seem to think you'll start aging more slowly after your late twenties, maybe thirties, until it stops altogether," Severus mused.

"_**I'll get grey hair?!"**_ Helena cried, utterly horrified.

Severus arched a brow. "Oh, the horror," he said.

"It'll be _**TERRIBLE**_, daddy! I'll _**never **_get a nice mate if I have grey hair!"

Severus and Hermione exchanged glances, silently accusing the other for their daughter's teenage lack of critical thinking.

"Hey!" Holly protested, having noted that she came in a natural silver-grey. She tackled her sister, and they went squeaking off into the night sky, chasing each other for whatever heinous crime they could make up against the other.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as Hermione laughed out loud.

"I'm _not _related to her," Sebastian announced, closing up the tome he was reading and placing it on the garden table.

Severus sniffed, having picked up the London rags and skimmed them. "Hrm. There seems to a violent crime problem in Lambeth," he said. His tongue flicked across his teeth, hunger whetted.

His two fighting daughters landed almost immediately. "We're hunting tonight?" Their faces had become feral and hungry in seconds. All signs of disagreement disappeared for the solitary of a family dinner.

"Please, daddy!"

"Please, mum!"

"PLEASE!"

Severus exchanged amused glances with Hermione. "I suppose," he said, rolling his eyes with flair.

The elder Snapes shrugged as they allowed their larger bat-forms to replace pale skin and robes. They launched into the air together, the batlings following eagerly.

"What are the three D's, my lovelies?" Hermione asked.

"Destination!" cried Sebastian.

"Determination!" cried Helena.

"Deliberation!" cried Holly.

Stephen looked around, wide-eyed, clinging to his mum's fur as a safety net.

"Apparition formation," Severus rumbled.

They formed up together, wings touching in pairs.

"Disillusionment," Hermione said.

They disappeared in a blur together.

"Three, two, one—" Severus counted.

CRACK!

They were gone.

* * *

Meanwhile, somewhere at the DMLE..

Ronald Weasley pounced on a beetle and ate it. He threw himself at the bars of the cell, shaking them as if they would bend.

"Master!" he cried. "Master! The blood is life, right Master?!" He shifted his look back and forth shiftily. "I am no lunatic man! I am a sane man fighting for his soul!" **

Auror Proudfoot and Savage played gobstones on their shared desks as they waited for their next assignments. They sighed together.

"Weasleys are mad anymore," Savage said, frowning. "Potter's wife, too. Bug eaters, all of them."

"Even the kids?"

"Well, Ron gave that untested potion to his entire family thinking it was a cure, save Charlie who was too far away and Bill, who renounced his family when they insulted his wife."

"Unfortunate he didn't wait, that," Savage said, sighing. "The potions masters said the sample they had was completely deteriorated. Whatever it was meant to do, we'll never know. It's been how many years now since the Infertility Plague hit Britian?"

Proudfoot shrugged, grabbing an apple from the desk and crunching down on it. "Who knows, partner, who knows," he said as he yawned widely. "Let's go get some food at the Leaky. The reports are done."

The two Aurors stood up and left together leaving one Ronald Weasley to his bug-eating cell, alone.

* * *

_**Fin.**_

* * *

**A/N:** **Some quotes are taken from Dracula by Bram Stoker. Kudos if you know which ones.

My bunny on this story is that Lily cursed Severus on the condition if she died, fully believing it would keep him from harming her (and not realising that harm could come anyway as it did in canon). She crafted the curse to make him "live forever in guilt" but didn't count on him finding true love to make the eternity bearable. She probably would never have even believed anyone could love "Sev" anyway.

Hermione, on the other hand, was caught in a curse triggered by her bleeding on the flagstones of Malfoy Manor (thanks to Bellatrix), and the power of that activation affected all that been there in some way. To Hermione, she was losing her "muddy blood" but for those related to Ron and Harry found themselves losing their fertility gradually. Probably something about "those that support Mudbloods deserve to die off, not realising that making a broad wish over bloodletting can come back and bite you since all the Purebloods tend to interbreed with each other, as Hagrid pointed out.

Ron figured 'ol Snape made a cure and wasn't telling anyone since Hermione wasn't mailing Harry anymore. She was alive, afterall. So, he stirred up Harry to go an steal it under the cover of taking a sample "for the benefit of everyone."

The rest of the story just unfolded as it did. Hah.

I hope you enjoyed it.

Back to work again. *whimper*


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